


let me let you go

by nevershootamockingbird



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Tattoos, pre-beau/jester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/pseuds/nevershootamockingbird
Summary: The tapping of Jester’s nail against the device is the only sound in the cabin at first, and Beau sinks into it, unique pain blooming bright across her nerves as the needle sinks in again and again and again. The repetitive sting isn’t quite enough to ground her; she knows she would drift but not for Jester’s weight on her back, the soft material of her dress pressed against her bare skin.She doesn’t know when she starts to cry, but she thinks it might be around the time Jester begins to sing.





	let me let you go

**Author's Note:**

> This will have some spoilers for Ep. 43, so if you're unaware of what happened in the episode and don't want to be spoiled, wait until you've watched it!
> 
> Beau talking to Jester about getting one of Molly's tattoos on herself absolutely destroyed me, and I've been thinking about it ever since. I know it might have already happened while they were heading to Darktow, but since we never received exact confirmation I figured I could play around with the timing a little and make it for after, when things are calmer and they don't have quite so much to worry about. 
> 
> So, here's a could-be scenario, Jester giving Beauregard that Mollymauk tattoo.
> 
> I really, really loved writing this piece. I hope that you enjoy it!

She goes to Jester on the third day. 

They’ve finally started to let down their guard, just a little, looking out over the stern less to check for following retribution and more to watch as Jester and Caduceus send them hurtling forward for a few brief moments of lighthearted joy. 

The ocean forces them in the right direction under the guidance of the clerics, the Squalleater cutting through waves and sending spray up over them all; even Nott enjoys it a little, Beau thinks, although the goblin mostly spends the time clutching at Caleb or Yasha’s legs for support until it’s over. 

Molly would love it. 

Molly would love it, would have loved the open sea, and she hasn’t stopped thinking about him since she saw Jester using his face, fleeing down the docks with Nott-Keg as they all tried to avoid detection and being arrested. He’d been in the back of her mind as they reconvened at the tavern, lurking in the corner as Caleb realized he could crack the code, refusing to leave her be as they were forced before Avantika too early the next morning. 

She thinks he would have enjoyed the way they pulled off that fucking plan, but, well. Beau tells herself a lot of things these days. There’s only two people she could check with, and absolutely neither are a fucking option. 

A mollymawk screeches overhead on the third day, and as soon as the boat begins to slow to it’s normal pace, laughter and cheers abating but the good humor staying as the crew spreads back to their positions, Beau catches Jester’s eye, jerking her head to the left before turning and heading below deck, not stopping until she’s in the cabin they’ve kept as their own. 

She’s already got her robe off by the time Jester enters behind her, the door shutting with a loud click behind the other woman. 

“Are you okay, Beau? Oh no, do you have a fever?” She turns as her friend darts forward, one hand suddenly smacking against her forehead, always a little cooler than she expects. 

“Woah! No, Jess, I’m fine, quit it,” Beau protests, taking a step away from the tiefling. Jester narrows her eyes at her, crossing her arms in front of her chest, tail lashing behind her. 

“Okay,” and how she drags the word out Beau will never understand, but it never fails to make her smile, even with the disbelief heavy in her friend’s voice, “then what’s going on?”

The floor between them is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. 

Beau studies the worn grain, shifts her weight from left to right, hands opening and closing around nothing at her sides. Jester waits, patient when it counts, until she finally swallows hard and asks, eyes still on the wooden planks, “You still got that tattoo shit from Orly?”

“Yeah, of course I-- oh, Beau.” There’s a tenderness in that realization that she isn’t prepared to handle, so Beau finally lifts her head, smears a grin on her face as she meets Jester’s gaze. Her blue eyes are almost unbearably understanding. 

“Been a little bit since you last did one. Feel like practicing on me?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, like her heart isn’t threatening to beat out of her chest, like she doesn’t still have nightmares of blood that will never wash off of her hands. Jester sighs before perking up, smiling widely and reaching out to clasp her hands, squeezing tightly. 

“Of course I do!” Her words are bright, sweet, but there’s a melancholy that lingers in her gaze. She squeezes Beau’s hands again before pulling away, rushing over to her bed to pull open the haversack and begin retrieving her supplies, and Beau can’t hide her relief, tension leaving her body in a rush as she shuts her eyes for a brief few seconds. 

She doesn’t deserve a friend like this in her life, but she’s selfishly going to keep Jester as close as possible until there’s no other option. 

She opens her eyes before taking her shirt off, tossing it to the bed over her robe, adjusting her breastband to make sure it won’t be in the way before asking, “How is this gonna be easiest for you?”

“Well, standing would definitely suck. We could sit on the floor, but that might get pretty uncomfortable for you,” Jester muses, fiddling with her equipment. “You want this on your back, right?

“Yeah, uh, starting at the base of my neck, reaching towards the top of my shoulder blades. Not too big, you know?” Beau shrugs, twists her neck until it pops, grateful that Jester still hasn’t looked back up at her. “So, where do you want me?”

“Two options! You lie on the bed, I sit on your back,” and Beau has to swallow at that image, doesn’t let her mind take it anywhere else, as Jester continues, “or, you sit in a chair, I sit in one right behind you.”

“Um, whatever, I guess. Seriously, I’ll be fine, whatever makes this easiest for you,” she insists, and Jester grins over at her finally, wiggling her eyebrows at her. 

“You’re so nice, Beau,” she teases, and Beauregard groans, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Get on your stomach, then, I don’t want to risk you flinching away or something, that would suck if you made me mess up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beau grumbles, already turning towards her bed. She shoves her boots off before crawling onto the blanket, pushing her pillow aside and settling down onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows as she looks over towards Jester. 

Her friend is carefully holding a needle, two inkwells, and a wrapped up bowstring as she skips over to join her, winking before kneeling on the bed and swinging one leg over Beau’s back, straddling her waist. “Okay, so like, you want me to freehand this shit or draw it out first?”

Beau genuinely, honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. Jester lets her panic in relative quiet; she’s humming something quietly, unfamiliar but nice, as she sets the inkwells down on Beau’s back, begins winding the bowstring around the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. The human lowers herself fully against the bed, curling her fingers into the blanket next to her shoulders, shutting her eyes as her forehead and nose impact the scratchy material. 

“I trust you,” she finally murmurs, and there’s a sharp inhale above her followed immediately by a soft sigh. A cool palm settles over her left shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“I know,” Jester says softly, something like awe in her voice. “I won’t break that, you know I won’t.”

“I know, Jessie. It doesn’t have to be an exact match, okay?” She swallows hard, grateful that her friend won’t be able to see her face for this process. “Close, recognizable, but don’t worry about making it the same.”

“Okay. Ready for me to start?” The other woman asks, and Beau lets out a slow breath, feels the remaining tension in her muscles flow out. Jester’s weight is a heavy, comforting presence against her back, and she hums once, flexes her fingers and lets her palms settle flat against the bed. 

“Yeah, please. Don’t stop ‘til it’s done.” Jester squeezes her shoulder once more, then her hand disappears, weight shifting forward slightly. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she promises, and then the needle hits Beau’s skin and everything else disappears. 

The tapping of Jester’s nail against the device is the only sound in the cabin at first, and Beau sinks into it, unique pain blooming bright across her nerves as the needle sinks in again and again and again. The repetitive sting isn’t quite enough to ground her; she knows she would drift but not for Jester’s weight on her back, the soft material of her dress pressed against her bare skin. 

She doesn’t know when she starts to cry, but she thinks it might be around the time Jester begins to sing. 

It’s not a tune she recognizes, soft and melodic, and there’s no hope of Beau knowing the words, infernal still utterly foreign to her. It’s beautiful, though, soothing, and she wonders when Marion taught it to her daughter, wonders if Jester grew up practicing along with her mother as soon as she knew how to speak. One song shifts into another, into another, and the unfamiliar language washes over Beau, keeping her present in the moment. 

Her awareness narrows down to the repetitive sting of the needle sinking into her skin, the songs that seem to be endless, Jester familiar and steady and just above her. 

Time slips away, and she has no desire to try and grab for it. Beau thinks, hazy and not entirely coherent, that she thinks she understands why Molly was so fucking covered in these things. He had other reasons, she’s sure, but oh, this is addictive; she already knows she won’t be satisfied with one. 

Tears roll unchecked from her eyes, but her breathing stays steady, even. The monks who trained her would be so fucking proud. 

“Hey, we’re done.” Jester’s voice is gentle, one hand smoothing up Beau’s spine, stopping to splay between her shoulder blades, and the monk hums in acknowledgement. Her friend giggles softly, picking up the inkwells before shifting her weight off of her, sliding off the bed to stand next to it again. “You want to see now?”

“Yeah,” and she has to stop and clear her throat, voice hoarse from disuse and tears, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“You got it!” Jester rushes back to her own bed, carefully putting her equipment back in the haversack before pulling two mirrors out. Beau is slow to push herself up, twisting to sit on the edge of the bed, letting her head adjust to the shift from horizontal to vertical for a moment before standing carefully. There’s a wet spot on the bed where her face was, but it’ll dry before she needs to sleep, she’s sure. 

Her back aches as she rolls out her shoulders, her neck, and she relishes the bright flare of pain. 

“Okay, okay, okay, turn around! Here, hold this,” Jester says, shoving one mirror into her hands before pushing at her shoulder, impatiently urging her to spin around. “Okay, okay, now hold it up, yeah, like that! Here, then when I put this one up, you should be able to see the reflect-- yeah! Right there!”

It’s fucking gorgeous.

Beau inhales sharply, blinks the remaining moisture from her eyes as she takes in the tattoo. Purple and red ink stand out vibrantly against her dark skin, triangle surrounding the eye, open and unblinking. It’s not the same, some small designs surrounding the lines of the pyramid, sharp and distinct, but anyone who knew Molly will recognize it in a heartbeat. It’s absolutely perfect, and Beau gapes at the reflection, can’t believe that this is hers, now, permanently.

“So? What do you think?” Jester finally asks, holding the mirror steady for her still. Beau can hear the smile in her voice, but her words betray her, carrying a heavy amount of uncertainty as she asks, “You, um. You like it, right?”

She whirls around suddenly, wraps her arms tight around her friend’s shoulders and presses their cheeks together, mindful not to gouge herself against Jester’s horn. She only sounds a little choked up as she says, “I fucking love it, Jessie, thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Oh! Oh, good.” Jester sighs, winds her arms around Beau’s waist and squeezes her close. They stay like that for a long moment, wound tightly together, until Beau calms her breathing, feels her heart rate slowing to match her friend’s. Jester smoothes one hand up her spine, until it rests just below the tattoo, telling her, “I’m gonna heal it up now, okay? Don’t want this shit to get infected, that would definitely suck.”

“Yeah, alright,” Beau agrees, lets Jester take more of her weight with a sigh. Her friend mutters under her breath, and then there’s a wash of warm energy through her, coalescing around the nerves of her upper back. The pulsing ache under her skin fades to a dull soreness, just barely present, and she sighs quietly, rolling her shoulders out. She wishes she could keep that harsh pain, but she just says, “Thanks, Jester.”

“Of course, Beau! It looks pretty badass, huh?” Her friend pulls away with a grin, takes the other mirror back and turns to walk back to her bed, sticking them into her pink bag. Beau huffs out a laugh, nodding and turning to her own bed, leaning down to grab her shirt and robe. 

“Yeah, it really does.” She mulls over her next words in her head as she slowly gets dressed again, finally asking, “Hey, you, uh. Can we keep this between us, for now?”

“Sure,” Jester says, like it’s that easy, and maybe, Beau thinks, turning to meet her friend’s smiling gaze, maybe it can be. “You ready to head back on deck now? The others are probably getting worried that we’re getting into trouble or something.”

“I mean, they have a fair point,” and she grins lazily, a little cocky, ignores the butterflies in her stomach when it makes Jester tip her head back with laughter. She skips over and grabs one of Beau’s hands, squeezing gently. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” she says, smile dropping, suddenly serious, and Beau can only nod, squeezing Jester’s hand in response. Her friend rocks up to kiss her cheek, lips brushing her skin softly, and Beau’s heart leaps into her throat, her free hand balling up into a fist so she doesn’t do something stupid like grab Jester tight and never let go.

“Um, yeah, of course,” she manages to say, and Jester giggles, dropping back down and grinning up at her broadly. 

“Alright, then let’s go!” She declares cheerfully, twisting and tugging Beau out the door, down the hall, up towards the deck. Beau follows, follows, follows, staring at where their fingers are still intertwined; she almost runs into Jester when her friend stops abruptly, just shy of stepping out onto the deck. 

Her eyes are soft, serious, a little damp; Beau squeezes her hand tightly, brow furrowing as she asks, “What’s wrong, Jester?”

“Molly would really like it, Beau,” she says, gentle, a little broken, and it hits Beau like a punch to the sternum. Jester sniffles a little, ducks her head for a moment, and when she lifts it to meet Beau’s gaze again she’s smiling, just a touch of sorrow at the edges. “He would, he would love that you got this.”

“Thank you.” It’s all she can manage, but Jester seems to understand, squeezing her hand once before turning and leading her back up onto the deck. 

A mollymawk screeches overhead, and Beau feels the dull ache under her clothes, a reminder and a promise all at once. 

Molly would like it, she’s sure of it. But she likes it, too, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, that’s allowed to matter a little more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I loved writing it, and I hope you liked it even a fraction as much. 
> 
> I have a lot of feelings about Beau and Molly, and a lot of feelings about Beau and Jester. Hopefully this is fairly in character, I tried my best to keep it true to them. 
> 
> Title is from "when the party's over" by Billie Eilish, because that line hit me hard and I knew it had to be this. I think Beau is still struggling with letting Molly go, with letting her grief and guilt over Molly go, and it seemed fitting for this.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! You can find me over at [tumblr](https://nevershootamockingbird.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/daleytwin1) if you feel like yelling with me about these lovely characters (or anything else, really).


End file.
